Assembly
by William Easley
Summary: Ford's old dream of founding his own school for studying anomalies and the paranormal has come true. He welcomes the first class and finds a surprise.


**Assembly**

* * *

**(Coote River, Oregon – Tuesday, September 6, 2016)**

Feeling strangely out of uniform, though he was in fact _in _uniform, classic doctoral academic robes, Stanford Pines glanced at the clock. Twelve seconds to eight-thirty a.m. Ten. Six. Four. One—

"Good morning," he said into the microphone, and the the rows of murmuring young people in the audience fell silent, looking at him expectantly. "Good morning," he repeated, "and welcome, members of the first-ever class at the Institute of Anomalous Sciences. Most of you have seen me at least once in orientation sessions, but for those of you who haven't, my name is Dr. Stanford Pines, and I am President of the Institute. Now, my office is Room 101—how do you suppose that happened?—on the first floor of the main classroom building. During the term, I will teach two seminars on Mondays and Wednesdays, one on Theories of Anomalous Research, one on Intedimensionality. How many of you are in one or the other of those classes? Show of hands, please. Excellent, exactly right, matches my class rolls, twenty-eight of you.

"In a few moments, I'll introduce you to the rest of the faculty, these seven distinguished women and seven learned men sitting behind me. You'll find many things different here—but then, you must realize, you are all different yourselves. You have been admitted because you have two outstanding qualities: You have all earned undergraduate degrees with honors; and you are all eager to explore subjects not taught in normal graduate institutions. These may include parapsychology, psychic phenomena, cryptozoology, my own field of multiple-worlds theory, or many others.

"Now, how many of you were thought by others to have strange interests, or to be strange yourselves, in your undergraduate schools? Ah, that's all of you. Well, don't worry. Here the outlandish is commonplace, the unusual is the norm, and the uncanny is ordinary. I well remember when I sat in an assembly much like this one and felt completely out of place. You see, I qualified as freakish in_ two_ ways—my interests were in the weird and oddball side of knowledge, and as for myself—" he held up a six-fingered hand and waggled the digits—"I spent my entire pre-college career being mocked as a freak."

The students applauded, somewhat disconcerting him. Though Ford could control his breathing and his heart rate and even the flow of adrenaline, though he had boldly faced down monstrosities, robots, demons, and aliens, he was just beginning to realize that public speaking was one fear over which he had no power.

"So," he said, hoping his voice didn't sound unsteady. "Welcome to a place where _everyone_ fits in. Now, just a few remarks, and then we'll meet your instructors and at 9:15 we will dismiss so you can get to your first classes by 9:30. If anyone has not finalized your schedule, you have until Friday at five p.m. to do so. My assistant is Mrs. Laurel Finch—Mrs. Finch, please stand—and her office is just outside mine, again Room 101. Please see her or your faculty advisor for assistance. Our normal schedule begins today with second period. Then you will discover that we have six periods of seventy-five minutes each. You will find one set of class offerings on Tuesdays and Thursdays, another on Mondays and Wednesdays, and no classes on Fridays—no, don't applaud, because those are laboratory and field-trip days, so don't get your hopes up. Your normal course load is five classes per term, but some of you may have as few as the minimum of three. Presently you cannot overload with more than five courses, but that may change in future terms.

"Let me see . . . textbooks. The bookstore is located in the Annex, immediately to the right of this student center as you leave by the front doors. Nearly all the textbooks arrived in time, but five have not yet showed up. At your first class meetings, the teachers for those classes will tell you what to do until the books arrive. In other words, they'll punt. You will be happy to know that your classes will be small—a maximum of fifteen students each—and that all your instructors have ample office hours for consultation.

"By the way, on the advice of Professor McGucket—please stand up, Dr. McGucket—you will find on the second floor of the classroom building a coffee room, 221, in which both students and faculty are welcome. Frequent it, even if you hate coffee. We have teas, too, and you will discover that just sitting and chatting with our faculty will be instructive and maybe even more educational than dull lectures—or addresses like this one.

"All right, a little information about yourselves. We have 124 students, sixty-two men and sixty-two women. That was not by design, but it happened. I chalk it up to chaos theory. Your average age is twenty-three. Among you there is one person who interned with NASA, one who created a code-breaking algorithm for a government agency I'd best not mention, four who have seen anomalous aerial phenomena, seven who have encountered what may be ghosts or apparitions, five who have glimpsed what may be sasquatches, more of you who believe you have seen other cryptids, and good heavens, two dozen who have had prophetic dreams. Congratulations. You are not your ordinary graduate-school class!

"Now, before the introductions, let me ask you one question that has been nagging me ever since I stepped up to the lectern: As you know, our graduate school is properly called the Institute of Anomalous Sciences, and yet looking out at you, I see probably twenty people wearing maroon sweatshirts with 'Institute of Oddology' embroidered in gold. Where in the world did you get those?"

The students looked around, some of the ones wearing the shirts apparently a bit disconcerted. Finally, a dark-haired girl wearing big round glasses timidly raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss?" Ford said. "Please stand up. What's your name?"

"Um, Finn," she said, sounding scared. "Fidelity Finn. Um, people usually call me Fi."

"Miss Finn. Where did you get that shirt?"

"Um," she said, her face darkening with embarrassment, "I thought, uh, _you_ sold it to me!"

"Ah," Ford said as light dawned. "You must have met my twin brother, Mr. Stanley Pines. I see. In the future, you can tell us apart by counting our fingers. He has five per hand, and as I showed you, I am better endowed."

Everyone laughed, to Ford's confusion. "Anyway," he said, "My brother Stanley is not on staff here. He is a local, um, entrepreneur. I can't vouch for the quality of his merchandise, but I will say he's a good man to have on your side if you face some monstrous or mysterious threat."

"Um—is it all right to wear the shirt?" Miss Finn asked.

Ford chuckled. "You may sit down. Yes, of course it's all right! In fact, you'll probably see me in one as soon as I can find my brother. What the heck. Everybody, no matter how strange and freakish people think you are—each and all of you, welcome to the Institute of Oddology!"

And _then_ they all applauded.

* * *

_The End_


End file.
